A Fallen Green Card Becomes a Throne

The evening began, as many do, with a grievous offense. My chosen napping vessel—the one they call "Dad's lap"—was unceremoniously vacated. The humans gathered around the low table in the center of the room, a place I generally reserve for surveying my domain. From the box came a rustling, a sharp *shuff-shuff-shuff* that mimicked the sound of the treat bag but offered none of its rewards. A false promise. I watched from the arm of the sofa, tail twitching in mild irritation, as they dealt out the little paper tiles. Their behavior was baffling. They’d squint at their holdings, a strange tension filling the air. Then, one of them would slap down a card—a particularly odious red one, I noted—and cry "Deal Breaker!" The victim would groan, a sound of pure anguish I usually only hear when I decide the potted fern looks better on the floor. I began to see it not as a game, but as a formalized, miniature war. The colorful cards weren't properties; they were territories. The money cards were a crude form of tribute. These bumbling giants were playing at being kings and queens, and frankly, they were terrible at it. Then, the moment of truth. In a fit of pique after having her little blue territory stolen, my primary human swiped a card from her hand. It fluttered through the air, a wounded bird of paper and ink, before landing silently on the rug not two feet from my perch. It was a green one. I saw tiny houses printed on it. A fiefdom, abandoned. I descended from the sofa with the deliberate grace of a predator. I did not pounce. That would be vulgar. I circled it, sniffing its papery essence. It smelled of human hands and abstract conflict. I extended a single, perfect paw and gently tapped its edge, causing it to spin. It was decided. I placed my paw firmly upon the card, pinning it to the rug. Then, with an air of finality, I lowered myself onto it, tucking my paws beneath my pristine white chest. The game could continue, but this small, green corner of their flimsy empire was now mine. They could squabble over their other little rectangles, but this one had been claimed by a higher power. My verdict: the game is a foolish human endeavor, but its artifacts make for surprisingly adequate thrones. It may proceed, so long as tribute is paid.